A.N. Wow, that's interesting! There's quite a difference in response between a Neal chapter and a Peter chapter. Are there really that many more Neal fans? I love Peter every bit as much as Neal and my stories will always contain both characters in equal measure. Where's the Peter love?

A.N.2 Thanks again to Susan for the wonderful beta. Your comments are always so helpful.

Chapter Five

By the time Hughes showed up the next day, Peter was irritable and restless. His sleep had been filled with wrenching nightmares, fragmented splinters of memory. He was frustrated by lying helpless in bed while Neal was unjustly imprisoned, and he was also not looking forward to rehashing his recent ordeal. He had asked Elizabeth to leave while he gave his formal statement. He would talk to her about it in his own time, downplaying certain aspects of the experience and completing ignoring others. It would be very different from the dry, clinical, overly factual account he would have to deliver to Hughes. So, as his boss entered, El gave him a quick kiss and an admonitory whisper in his ear, then departed in search of a warm shower and a decent meal.

Peter was sitting propped up against the pillows, and all visible attachments had been removed except the heart monitor and IV. It was a more dignified position than that imposed on him the previous day, and Peter was grateful for that as he reached out to shake his boss's hand.

"Glad to see you looking better," Hughes remarked in greeting.

"Feeling better, Sir," Peter returned politely.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Peter inquired after the progress of a case he'd been working on for the two weeks before his disappearance. He was biding his time before asking the question he really wanted answered, not wishing to seem too eager, but finally, as Hughes opened his briefcase to remove the recording device, he cleared his throat and took the plunge.

"Sir, about Neal..."

Nothing showed on the older man's face, and Peter realised he'd been expecting the question. Yet, there was something in his sudden, stilted movements and the silence that stretched between them, hanging like an almost palpable weight, that sent fear crawling along the skin of his arms, raising the fine hairs. Then, as if coming to a sudden decision, Hughes spoke.

"We'll talk about Caffrey later. First, we have to get this business finished. We need your statement."

For a moment, Peter didn't know how to respond. The bitter awareness that something was very wrong settled heavily over his spirits, and he wanted to demand answers. But Hughes wasn't a man who would appreciate such forthright tactics, and he couldn't afford to alienate the person who might prove crucial to Neal's future.

"Yes, Sir," he ground out reluctantly. His imagination was feeding him dozens of scenarios, each more terrible than the last, and he had to force himself to repress the cascade of images and concentrate on retrieving what he could from his memory.

"I...um...I was alone in the house. My wife was away visiting her sister, and she'd taken our dog with her. I was woken sometime after 1a.m. by a noise in the house." He'd actually thought it might be Neal, because the man had the habit of showing up unexpectedly at his home, so he hadn't immediately called for back up. "I took my weapon and went to check it out. There were two men, both wearing ski masks, no weapon that I could see. They were going through the drawers in our living room. I identified myself as a Federal agent and informed them I was armed. They surrendered without protest, which probably should have made me suspicious. However, they followed instructions and assumed the position. I came further down the stairs to go to the phone to call for backup."

He took a deep breath. "It was a trap, and I fell right into it. There was a third man who was hidden. The first two were there just to make enough noise and draw me down. It's a good thing that they weren't there to kill me, because I wouldn't have stood a chance. I think I heard something, because I was turning as the guy swung at me with the baseball bat. I was able to diminish some of the impact, but my gun went flying. After that...it's really confused. I fought back, and I guess they were hampered by not wanting to cause too much damage. Then, I spotted my gun, managed to get across to it. Once I got my hands on it, I suppose they decided that disobeying orders was better than getting killed, so they shot first."

Just recounting the event made his heart pound heavily, aching as if a great weight were crushing it. He coughed slightly, giving himself the opportunity to take a break under the guise of needing a drink of water. The shock and blood loss at the time had erased much of the emotional impact, but he remembered the tearing regret for the grief El would suffer and also the fear that without his presence, Neal, too, would be lost, that he would revert to a life of crime or perhaps be arbitrarily thrown back in jail. It was ironic that he'd foreseen that consequence but for the wrong reasons.

Hughes allowed him the breather, pausing the recorder and giving him some privacy by sorting through some papers from a folder, but suddenly Peter wanted nothing more than to finish his statement and get the answers he needed.

"There's not much else to add," he said abruptly. Hughes quickly turned the recorder back on. "I vaguely remember being in a van." He gave a humorless laugh. "They were panicking because they couldn't stop the bleeding. I also remember them hooking me up to an IV and... questions. They kept asking me questions, about money, I think, but I was too far out of it. That's really all. I'm just glad you found me." He looked intently at his boss. "El said it was Neal that put it all together."

Hughes met his gaze, and Peter tried to read something in that impassive face. It seemed to soften slightly. "I'll get to that, I promise. Let's tie this up."

Peter looked at a few photographs and identified two of the faces he remembered seeing, then signed some necessary paperwork before throwing the pen down with finality. "That's it. Now I want to know what the hell is going on. Why is Neal still in jail when it's obvious that not only am I not dead, but he had nothing to do with it?"

His voice rose in pitch as frustration and anger revved his speech to the wrong side of civility. Strangely, it only seemed to make Hughes look more weary.

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple."

"Why not? He was arrested for my murder, and I'm not dead. What could be simpler than that?" The last word seemed to whistle slightly as the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. "Damn it!" He leaned forward, panting, to ease that constriction as the room started swirling freely around him .

He realised a nurse was beside him with another syringe, and he dragged in enough air to growl, "If you stick that in, I'll just yank the entire IV out of my arm." His face seemed stuck between a scowl and an entreaty.

To his surprise, she chuckled, "Okay, I'll make you a deal. You promise not to get agitated, and I'll promise to keep the needles away. Just remember, nothing is worth your health."

Peter chose not to argue with her, and also ignored the fact that she made him sound like a five-year-old having a tantrum, merely nodding gratefully. "It's a deal."

She didn't immediately disappear but stayed to plump his pillows and help him sit more comfortably until his heart rate and breathing returned to a level that was more acceptable to her.

As she left, a glance at Hughes showed him a worried frown, but that was so close to his normal expression it was uninformative.

"Please explain," Peter asked with exquisite calm.

Hughes sighed. "I put in all the paperwork to get Neal released, but it was blocked at a higher level."

"Why?" Peter demanded.

"You know Neal's release wasn't parole. It wasn't just contingent on him not breaking the law. It was about whether the risk of him escaping or otherwise damaging the reputation of the department was outweighed by the information and assistance he supplied."

"And it has been," Peter protested hotly. "He's been a tremendous asset to the department. In fact, he's gone far beyond what we originally asked of him. He's put his life on the line for us, time and again."

"You make a strong argument there." Hughes' word choice was slow and careful, and Peter tilted his head slightly, trying to read the message behind them.

"There's going to be a hearing next Thursday to decide Caffrey's future in the department." His boss paused. "When are you expecting to be discharged?"

"Before next Thursday," Peter answered promptly and not entirely accurately.

"They won't let you testify if you're out AMA," Hughes warned.

"I won't be." It was said with confidence, as Peter was already planning a con worthy of Neal. The only possible monkey wrench was El, who would not be happy to see him pushing himself too fast, but she, too, was fond of Neal and, with a little persuasion, would be a convincing accomplice.

Hughes pulled a slim file out of the briefcase. "There are other complications you should know about."

Peter stared at his boss, his face set grimly. He was getting heartily sick of the rollercoaster of hope he'd been riding.

"There are two possible additional charges pending against Neal," Hughes stated reluctantly.

If Peter gritted his teeth any harder, he was going to need reconstructive dental work before he left the hospital. "Legitimate ones?"

"The first - I'm not so sure, the second - yes, but with extenuating circumstances. To start with, he's charged with resisting arrest."

"That's bull. Neal doesn't resist arrest, and I should know." Peter interrupted hotly.

"The unanimous opinion of the arresting team is that he did. Circumstances were very different from the times you arrested him, Peter. To be honest, I don't think he was operating on all cylinders, having just been accused of your murder. However, it is also entirely possible that with the reputed death of a popular agent, our guys were looking for an excuse to get in a few licks of their own."

There was only one conclusion to be drawn from that, and fear turned to a lead weight in the pit of his stomach as Peter processed it. "Was Neal hurt? El said he was okay."

"She had enough on her plate worrying about you. I saw no point adding to her concerns." He held up a hand to stop Peter's angry expostulations. "It was nothing too serious - a few cracked ribs and some admittedly severe bruising. Here's a copy of the arrest report."

Peter perused the file quickly, a frown cutting deep grooves between his eyes. He took particular note of the arresting officer - Bill Seaton. The man would regret allowing this travesty of justice, Peter would see to that. He'd been so concerned that Neal would be injured in jail, yet it was the Bureau that had hurt him. Rage at that betrayal burned acidly inside.

He looked up. "Why do I get the feeling you're saving the best for last?" A slight grimace showed him he'd guessed right.

"Caffrey escaped from custody again," Hughes stated with the abruptness of pulling off a band aid.

The words brought automatic dismay, then total confusion. "But...I don't understand...I thought you said..."

"Neal escaped just long enough to investigate your disappearance - after all, he was the only one who knew for sure he was innocent; then he turned himself in." He shook his head ruefully. "I have to admit, I'm as impressed as hell, and not just at his outstanding detective work in finding you. He was free and clear, but he chose not only to use that freedom to save his partner, but also to surrender himself afterwards, thus not only supporting his arguments as to your whereabouts, but freeing up the Bureau agents to follow up on his deductions."

Peter had had a surfeit of bad news; it had been his steady diet since awakening. An invisible band seemed to wrap around his chest, and he tried to take a deep breath, but circumstances pressed too heavily upon him.

A cauldron of emotions seethed inside, but pride and anguish somehow bubbled to the top together. That incorrigible, infuriating, loyal, stupid son-of-a-bitch. He had indeed sacrificed his freedom for Peter's safety. Neal's tendency to make decisions that were so far from his best interest had always angered and frustrated Peter; as the beneficiary of that selflessness this time, he couldn't really complain, but it hurt in a way he didn't want to analyze.

He had a sudden memory of Neal asking if Peter had his back. There had been a promise implicitly made on both their parts that day. Neal had kept his side of the pact and protected his partner in the only way he could. Now it was Peter's turn to step up to the plate. All of a sudden, he felt considerably more positive. He had focus and a purpose and knew exactly what he needed to do. He was going to get Neal out of jail, in whatever way it took.

He realised he hadn't acknowledged his boss's confession. "Neal is.." He fished around for the word he wanted, but it was as elusive as the man himself, and he settled on, "...one-of-a-kind. Sir, I'm going to need..."

"I've got everything right here." Like a slightly emaciated, professional version of Santa Claus, Hughes started pulling things out of his briefcase: a laptop and several files. He paused before throwing the last item on the bed, tapping the plastic case thoughtfully. "This is a copy of Neal's interrogation. Don't watch it just yet; get a good night's sleep first."

"It's that bad?" Peter asked uneasily.

Hughes didn't respond, but surveyed the mass of paperwork he'd dumped on the bed. "Elizabeth's going to kill me, isn't she?"

Peter summoned a tired smirk, "Are you afraid of my wife?"

Hughes almost smiled. "I think I am. I certainly don't want her upset at me for causing your health to deteriorate."

"I think she'll understand. I really appreciate this, Sir. If I had to just sit here with nothing to do, then I would go crazy."

Hughes left with a last promise of assistance if there was anything else Peter needed.

Finally alone, Peter slumped down in the bed, feeling leaden and brain-dead, his body simply unable to maintain the level of energy it was pouring into emotion. He needed to rest, so he shut his eyes in the fond hope that it would encourage sleep, but, despite his best efforts, his mind refused to be silenced. It still hummed along in top gear, rehashing Neal's actions and their consequences, planning his strategy to get his friend released. The ache in his chest eased slightly as ideas sparked and plans formed.

Carefully scooting back up the bed, he opened the laptop and switched it on.

Elizabeth was feeling relaxed. The recuperative powers of a long soak in the tub followed by comfort food couldn't be overstated. She gently pushed open the hospital door, hoping to find Peter asleep, then stared aghast at the sight of him sitting bolt upright in bed, staring so intently at a computer screen he was oblivious to her entrance. She was familiar with the expression on his face, a determination that would light a candle at ten paces.

"Peter," she cried out reprovingly.

His head shot round guiltily, a grimace crossing his face at the sudden movement. "Oh, honey," he floundered for a moment. "You're looking so much better." He winced, recognising the tactlessness in that sentiment and backtracking fast enough to give him whiplash. "Not that you weren't looking absolutely beautiful before."

"You're supposed to be resting," she pointed out a trifle testily.

"I am!" It was said as indignantly as if she'd accused him of trying to run a marathon.

"Peter." This time there was a distinct wobble in the word, which instantly demolished all his defenses.

"El, don't; come here!" He tucked her gingerly against his good side, giving it several minutes before continuing cautiously. "I have to get Neal out of jail."

Elizabeth straightened up. "If it's the last thing you do?" she asked with a touch of bitterness.

"It's not like that, sweetheart. I promise you. I'll be careful." He hated putting more worry in her eyes, but his job had given him experience with that conflict.

Elizabeth's voice was soft but insistent. "I'm sure Neal would be the first to tell you that a couple of days won't make that much difference. He spent four years in jail before, remember."

It wasn't as if they had never argued in ten years of marriage. But nearly every time, Peter had had to practice his best apology skills, acknowledging that he'd been mostly in the wrong. Elizabeth had the rare combination of intelligence, common sense, and interpersonal skills. She was a wonderful listener and had always been his sounding board, a reliable and constant source of support and advice. It wasn't like her to prod at a sore spot. Yes, he'd sent Neal to prison before. It had been the right thing to do, but it wasn't something he particularly wanted to be reminded of, especially under the circumstances. He was unsure how to deal with her in an adversarial position, even while understanding that her objections arose from concern for him.

"But this IS different," he protested weakly.

However, it seemed to deflate her frustrations, and she trailed her finger down his jaw line in apology. "I know. I know this time he's innocent. I know what he's sacrificed for you. I just want you to give yourself time to heal."

He hated to play on her guilt, but she had to understand. "Honey, Hughes didn't want to worry you any further, so he didn't tell you everything. Neal's hurt, and he's alone. And it's not just that." He paused, not wanting to frighten her, but needing to reveal his worst fear. "Last time, he wasn't an FBI informant. Every minute he's in jail, he's in danger."

Elizabeth's eyes were now wide with comprehension and a dawning fear. "What are you going to do?"

"There's an FBI hearing to decide Neal's future next Thursday. I'm going to marshall some extremely effective arguments on his behalf and try to sabotage any effort to set up opposing arguments."

"And if you can't?" She could see his pulse pounding in his neck, his lips pressed together, and had a sudden wild vision of him planning a jail break. Luckily, what came out of his mouth was more prosaic.

"If all else fails, I get Neal to sue the department for false arrest and brutality. It should be enough for them to make a deal."

She had no difficulty interpreting the sadness behind that determined statement. "However, he'd never be able to work for the FBI again." It wouldn't do Peter's career any good either, but neither of them voiced that concern.

"I'd have to find some other way to keep him out of trouble." He smiled in a flimsy attempt at reassurance. "It's a last resort, honey. I don't intend for it to come to that."

"Okay." El sat upright, although she still held his hand firmly in hers. "You get a good night's sleep now, and I'll do everything I can to help you tomorrow."

Peter wasn't going to fight her any longer on that issue. Exhaustion, worry, pain, and the drugs still lingering in his system had left him emotionally brittle, and he needed a respite from the continuous stress. El helped him to settle down more comfortably in the bed.

Thoughts continued to roll around his overtired brain in random patterns until bone-deep weariness pulled him under.